


But I'm More Than Just a Little Curious

by Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: AU-Tangled, Almost Dying, Angst, Bad at tagging, Family, Fluff, Friendship, If I missed something-please let me know, M/M, Mentions of Rape, Minor Character Death, Not-Quite-Normal-OTP, Pre-Relationship, relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-09
Updated: 2015-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-03 15:02:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4105198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark/pseuds/Scared_Beings_in_the_Dark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>30 one shots featuring the relationship of ADA Rafael Barba and Det. Dominick Carisi, Jr. Hey, who said love was sane?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One - Six

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from The Noose by A Perfect Circle.
> 
> I did not come up with this list. That honor goes to petals42 on Tumblr (http://petals42.tumblr.com/post/116529238464/the-not-quite-normal-but-still-totally-awesome-otp). I just borrowed the list because I felt the creeping of the writer’s block I always seem to get. So, I decided to write, sort of free flow it, for Barba/Carisi because while I don’t dislike the pairing, I really don’t see it. Although. Remember that slide? It's a pit now.
> 
> There are plenty of mistakes. I would greatly appreciate it if you find one, let me know so I can fix it.
> 
> Thanks!

\---

Some of the prompts are short…really short. If you’d like to see more of that particular prompt, just leave a comment.

 

Thanks for reading!

  

\--

**1. On a swing set (I’m thinking the PG kind but make it whichever!)**

Their first date is at an honest-to-God park with swings and slides and those little excavator shovels.

 

Sonny runs everywhere, scrambling up the slide instead of using the stairs, dumping a huge pile of sand where Rafael is trying to dig a trench, and swinging so high his feet seem to touch the sky.

 

It’s the happiest Rafael has seen the detective in a long time, and he wonders why they never came here before.

 

\--

**2. Matching Footwear**

 

“Why are you wearing Barba’s shoes?”

 

Rollins’s suspicious tone interrupts Sonny’s thoughts. He glances at his feet to be sure, no, yeah, those are his. Yeah, Rafael got them for him, but they’re not the same as the ADA’s.

 

“They’re not,” he says. And then Rafael walks in and, yeah, okay. They’re wearing exactly the same type of shoes.

 

“See?” Rollins says gleefully, poking at Sonny’s chest. “You’re wearing Barba’s shoes.”

 

Sonny makes a point of looking all around the bullpen before fixing a steady gaze on Rollins. “You’re the only one who cares,” he says, smiling.

 

“Hey, nice shoes, Detective,” Barba calls as he passes, and Sonny chokes on his tongue as Rollins doubles over laughing.

 

\--

**3. Lost somewhere**

 

“Give me that!” Rafael snatches the map from Sonny, huffing, as he has no better luck struggling to decipher Sonny’s drunken scratches.

 

“Yeah, you’re an idiot.” But, he says it affectionately with a quick peck on Sonny’s cheek.

 

“I’m not the one who decided to follow the yellow brick road,” Sonny reminds him gently. “But, yeah, I’m an idiot.”

 

“So,” Rafael says, another quick peck, this one falling closer to Sonny’s lips, “any ideas?”

 

“Stop and ask for directions?”

 

\--

**4. First night in their first apartment**

 

There is no bed.

 

Rafael thought he’d been clear. The bed is first.

 

Sonny, though, just digs out a sleeping bag and a large quilt. He lies down, staring up at the ceiling.

 

Rafael sighs heavily, to indicate his disapproval with the moving company, but when Sonny pats the space next to him, he curls against his side.

 

“I wanna paint the ceiling,” Sonny says, half-rolling, so he’s facing Rafael. “Stars, and maybe a moon. The sun in the corner. Two suns. Sunrise and sunset.”

 

“No,” Rafael says. “The fumes.”

 

“Window,” Sonny replies, pointing over Rafael’s head at the large, large window—this apartment having been chosen for its spectacular view. “It opens.”

 

“Yes, but it’s the middle of winter.”

 

“Paint’s on sale.”

 

“No.”

 

“Sunset, Rafi. Sunrise! Stars! Haven’t you ever wanted to be an astronaut?”

 

Rafael moves until he can stare into Sonny’s pleading eyes. “No,” he says, enunciating carefully. “I have never wanted to be two feet off the ground. I hate heights. Do you know what it’s going to do to me to see you up on a ladder painting? What if you fall off?”

 

Sonny just laughs and kisses Rafael’s forehead. “I love you too,” he says affectionately.

 

“Didn’t say that,” Rafael protests.

 

“Yeah,” Sonny says. “You did.”

 

Rafael stops and thinks. Grins. “Yeah, I did. Okay. Truce. You can paint the suns, but no stars and I’ll get a harness so you won’t fall.”

 

“I won’t fall without a harness,” Sonny says. “But I still want stars.”

 

“Sleep.” Rafael pokes Sonny’s chest. “Sleep. We’ll talk over breakfast.”

 

“Promise?”

 

Rafael sighs. “Yes, Sonny. I promise.”

 

\--

**5. Being attacked by bees/other bugs**

 

Rafael is allergic to bees.

 

They find out when Sonny gives him lilies and Rafael forgets them on the stoop. By the time the next morning when he goes to get them, there is a bee in one and it doesn’t take kindly to its temporary home being disturbed.

 

Rafael turns blue.

 

Sonny stabs him with his own epi-pen, dialing 9-1-1 and Benson and his sister and Rafael’s mom and anyone he thinks can help.

 

By the time the ambulance gets there, Sonny’s crying almost too hard to be of any use. An EMA takes him aside to give him oxygen or valium or something to calm him while the other EMAs assess Rafael.

 

When they get out of the hospital, Rafael compares their matching pens, looking worried when the doctor hands Sonny a script for anxiety meds.

 

“If bees weren’t so important, I might kill them,” Sonny says darkly, that night.

 

“And if seaweed wasn’t so integral to the ecosystem, I’d ban it,” Rafael retorts.

 

Sonny glares at him. “I’m less likely to encounter seaweed, Counselor, than you are to run into a bee.”

 

Rafael snorts at that. “Do you realize how many labels we have to read to avoid traces of seaweed? There’s no way in hell there are more bees who have it out for me than foods you can’t eat.”

 

Sonny sighs, out-argued.

 

“At least we’ll always be here for each other,” Rafael says softly, tugging at Sonny’s shoulder until he lies down, puts his head on his chest. “But, really, Detective, did you have to call my mother? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

 

\--

**6. Sword Fighting**

 

They sign up for fencing. It was either that or ballroom dancing, and as Sonny put it, rather emphatically, “We already know how to do _that_!”

 

So, Rafael weighs the épée in his hand. He looks up at Sonny, already in a jacket and mask, facing another student similarly garbed.

 

The other student, male characteristics, advances and lunges, the tip of his épée brushing the air in front of Sonny’s mask.

 

Sonny retaliates, the tip of his épée striking his opponent in the shoulder.

 

“Point,” he calls, stepping back. Like most anything they try, Sonny throws himself into it, learning what they’re supposed to be doing before they do it.

 

It vexes their instructors, but Rafael finds it endearing.

 

It’s part of what he loves so much about him.

 

Apparently, the fact that Sonny isn’t some inexperienced beginner bothers his opponent, and before anyone can react, the man thrusts his épée upward into Sonny’s throat, sliding it under the bottom of the mask. The thwack as it strikes is loud enough the entire studio stops moving.

 

“Hey,” Rafael calls, stepping forward as Sonny reels back, his épée clanging as it falls to the mat, a hand flying to his throat. Rafael fears the worst, his heart thudding painfully in his chest as he moves.

 

An instructor pulls the man away while another goes to Sonny, blocking Rafael’s view. Rafael pushes past him, seeing, somewhat with relief that he already has Sonny’s mask up. Already there is a bruise forming on his throat. But, there is no blood.

 

“What’s his problem?” Sonny rasps out when he sees Rafael, and he shrugs.

 

“Will you be pressing charges?” the instructor asks. “I can assure you this will not be tolerated.”

 

Sonny looks at Rafael, asking something with his eyes. Rafael ignores him, turns to the instructor, and says, “Yes, we’ll be pressing charges.”

 

“Rafi,” Sonny says, reaching out to touch Rafael’s shoulder. “He probably needs anger management, not jail.”

 

“Yeah?” Rafael glares at Sonny, who remains unaffected by his rage. “It’s not your call, Detective. What would you be doing if it had been anyone else who’d been hit?”

 

Sonny blinks. “Fine, go ahead.”

 

“What if it’d been another student?” Rafael asks again, softer this time, and Sonny actually looks at him.

 

“I understand, Rafi. He was really aiming to hurt whomever he sparred with. It could’ve been you, it could’ve been the twelve year old girl on mat sixteen. He deserves whatever you can throw at him.”

 

Before they can continue their discussion, a couple of officers arrive and take the man away in cuffs. The whole class watches silently, applauding once the door closes behind them.

 

When Sonny turns back to Rafael, he holds a hand out to him, and Sonny clasps it tightly. “Thank you,” Rafael says, kissing his knuckles. “It’s the right thing to do.”

 

“I don’t think I like fencing so much anymore,” Sonny says sadly. Shame, he was getting so good at it.

 

“We’ll find something else,” Rafael assures him. “Even if we do take ballroom dancing.”

 

Sonny makes a face, letting Rafael lead him to the locker room so they can change out of their uniforms. “But, Rafi,” he whines, “we already _know_ how to dance!”

 

“So maybe we can show off there? Less chance of an asshole giving you a smackdown.”

 

Sonny laughs, so Rafael counts it as a victory.


	2. Seven – Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Features Tomato (8) and Bean (6), Carisi's nieces.

\--

**7\. Playing a game meant for children & 8\. Losing a game  _to_  aforementioned children**

 

“This is Bean,” Sonny points at the short, gap-toothed monster with uneven pigtails. “And that’s Tomato.”

 

Tomato is more refined than her sister, but still—child!

 

Rafael just stares at them.

 

“Uncle Dom!” Bean shouts. “I want supper!”

 

“Supper is hot dogs and mac-n-cheese,” Sonny responds, and Rafael never thought he’d see the day Sonny Carisi was out-mouthed, but there Bean goes again, shouting, “Yuck!” at the top of her lungs.

 

“Candyland,” Tomato says. Her first words of the evening. And, as it turns out, her _only_ words of the evening. Though, it’s really only one word. Maybe she talks as little as possible because Bean is so loud?

 

“What is Candyland?” Rafael asks Sonny, who purses his lips like he’s found the lemon life keeps trying to give him.

 

“Candyland is an abomination,” he replies quietly, reaching for that one shelf Rafael hates because he can’t quite reach it even balanced on a chair.

 

A few moments later, when Sonny’s making the yucky mac-n-cheese and hot dogs, Rafael has to agree with his boyfriend. Candyland is an abomination.

 

The board is too brightly colored, the pieces a bit sinister looking, and the rules too simplistic. How they’re expected to have fun with it is beyond Rafael.

 

“A game based on food,” he remarks to Sonny when he sets plates in front of all of them. “You’d think I’d like it.”

 

“You’d think,” Sonny agrees, putting the last disfigured gingerbread man on the board. Almost immediately, he draws the ice cream cone card and slides past all of them to be three-quarters there. Bean starts up a racket that makes Rafael rub at his temples, a headache steadily growing.

 

 “Shut up,” he hisses under his breath, and Sonny shoots him a sympathetic frown.

 

Bean does eventually shut up, but it’s only long enough to eat her hot dogs and throw the mac-n-cheese at her sister.

 

Even wearing both her and her sister’s supper, Tomato stays quiet. She wins the first round, and Bean wails— _wails!_ —at that fact. Sonny resets the board quickly, and Bean wins the second round. Tears well up in Tomato’s eyes, but Sonny puts the board away—thankfully, Rafael thinks, and not soon enough.

 

Sonny’s sister picks up both girls around that time, and Rafael is relieved to see them go. Sonny must be just as relieved, because when Rafael turns around from making sure the children actually leave with their mother, he’s face down on the floor.

 

“Sonny?”

 

“Promise me, Rafi,” he says muffled. Rafael sits by his shoulder, pokes him. “Promise me,” he repeats.

 

“Promise you what?” Rafael smiles, amused.

 

“When we have kids, they won’t be like that. They will never know what Candyland is, and they won’t give any babysitters headaches from hell.”

 

“When?” Rafael whispers. He and Sonny haven’t discussed children at all. In fact, they haven’t even discussed if they’re long-term, although at this point, Rafael would have to say they are.

 

Sonny lifts his head to stare at him. “We are having kids, right? I’m not just assuming something?”

 

“You know,” Rafael swallows hard, “I think we need to talk. It’s not a bad talk, though, Sonny,” he adds when his boyfriend adopts a sad frown. “It’s about us, what we want, where we’re going.”

 

“Okay,” Sonny smiles, “so, what do _you_ want? Where do you see us going?”

 

Rafael leans close to Sonny, one hand braced on the floor by his head, the other coming to rest, fingers splayed, on his chest. “I want us to grow old together. I want us to have a million more discussions and dates and kisses. I want to love you.”

 

He closes the distance, pressing firm lips against Sonny’s open mouth. He moves his hand up, to cup Sonny’s face, to tilt it back and deepen the kiss.

 

“We’ll talk about kids someday,” he promises, pulling back to look down at Sonny, his lips swollen and so very pretty, “but for tonight, let’s just be us, together, alone.”

 

“Okay,” Sonny says, thickly, still a little kiss-drunk. “Okay, Rafi. Tonight is for us.” He grabs Rafael’s hand and rolls them until he’s on top, littering kisses down Rafael’s face and where the first two buttons of his shirt have come undone. “Let me love you too,” he says.

 

\--

**9. One of them lost a bet (possibly against the damn children)**

 

“You owe me twenty bucks,” Rollins says when Rafael stops by the precinct. He stares at her in confusion.

 

“Last week,” she clarifies, “you bet me Carisi would get a date this weekend. I said he couldn’t. You said you’d give me twenty bucks if he failed.”

 

“I have no memory of this activity,” Rafael says. “You are clearly delusional. And, you’re not supposed to be betting anyway.”

 

Rollins scoffs, sticking her hand out.

 

Rafael glares at it. “Fine,” he grumbles, “but keep it quiet.” He pulls out his wallet and digs through until he finds the two tens Sonny gave him on Saturday. He hands them over, rolling his eyes at the way she starts to flash them at him.

 

“Hey, Rollins, hey Barba,” Amaro says, and Rafael spins around to face him while Rollins stuffs the bills in her pocket. “Whatcha got there, Rollins?”

 

“Oh, nothing,” she sing-songs all but skipping back to her desk where Fin fixes her with a narrow-eyed glare.

 

“Don’t tell Rollins,” Barba says when Amaro looks expectantly at him. “But, I actually won that bet.”

 

Amaro’s brow furrows. “Oh,” he says, face smoothing out as he smiles in understanding, “right. Your bet about Carisi. I take it he told you he’d been on a date? He’s been pretty tight-lipped with us so far.”

 

Barba glances around nervously. Olivia is in her office, thank God. And Sonny is nowhere to be seen. “Well, actually,” he starts. “ _I_ was his date.”

 

Amaro is stunned into shocked laughter. “Wait,” he says a moment later, “you’re serious?” He laughs again. “What’d you do? No, let me guess. You went bowling.”

 

Rafael frowns at him. “No, where’d you get that idea? We actually went to see that new movie the rest of you refused to see with him.”

 

“The rest of us were too busy,” Amaro says. “Or, we just don’t want to be caught in public with Carisi unless it’s work-related.”

 

Rafael nods. He would be the same way, he’s sure, mostly because he used to be that way too, but, now… “Actually,” he says, motioning Amaro closer, “and, under pain of litigation, do not repeat this to anyone, Carisi and I are dating. This wasn’t our first date.”

 

Amaro manages to close his mouth before Sonny materializes by Rafael’s side. “The Sarge wants to talk to you, as long as you’re here, Counselor,” he says. “Why do you look sick, Amaro?”

 

Rafael grins, waving at Amaro and Sonny as he trounces off to Liv’s office. It’ll come out sooner or later, but he’s sure Amaro will keep their secret as long as either of them need him to.


	3. Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sonny's accident-prone. Like, really, dangerously accident-prone. Rafael still loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got a little long. Sorry about that.
> 
> Also, language.

\---

**10. Lazy Sunday**

 

Sonny sits on the bar, swinging his feet back and forth, letting his heels thump off the wood paneling.

 

Rafael, sitting on the couch, work spread around him, glances up every now and again to shoot him a glare.

 

Every time, Sonny shrugs, smiling back at him. Sometimes he blows a kiss.

 

It’s a rare Sunday off and Rafael would rather spend it on his files. Sonny can think of a dozen things that are more fun, but when he gave Rafael the list, he’d gotten a “Not now. Busy. Go play with electricity or something.”

 

Well, Rafael probably didn’t mean it literally, but there is that one light in the hall that always gives them trouble. Sonny’s got two working hands and a ladder Rafael hides when he thinks Sonny’s going to paint again.

 

He digs a screwdriver out of the everything-drawer, finds the ladder in the guilt-closet, and heads to that little alcove in front of their bedroom.

 

Rafael grunts when he passes him, but otherwise remains fixated on the damn files. Sonny shrugs, setting up the ladder. The glass bowl over the light is held on by two tiny screws. It almost falls when Sonny finally manages to undo them. He sets it carefully on the top of the ladder, reaching up to take out the burned-out bulb. Well, actually, it’s not burned out. Sonny inspects it closely, shakes it to be sure. Nope. Not blackened and definitely no rattle.

 

So, it’s gotta be that socket the bulb goes into. Using the head of the screwdriver, Sonny pries it free—mostly. It’s still hanging by a wire.

 

He jiggles something inside, twists the bulb back into place, and smiles when it lights up.

 

It goes back neatly, and the glass bowl is replaced with no trouble. And then, as he’s tightening the screws to keep it in place, his screwdriver slips and goes into the back of the socket into the wire.

 

Sonny doesn’t know if he screamed as it happened, and he doesn’t know what really did happen, but next thing he knows, he’s on the floor, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the burning pain racing up and down his right arm, gasping harshly.

 

Rafael is leaning over him and his mouth is moving a million miles an hour, but Sonny can’t hear him. There’s a deafening roar in his ears, the static drowning out everything else.

 

He tries to tell him this, because, oh, man, it looks like Rafi’s really worried.

 

Rafael doesn’t notice, pulling out his phone and punching some numbers rather harshly.

 

Sonny moves to sit up, and that gets Rafael’s attention.

 

“No, no, no,” he says, soothingly, pressing a hand against Sonny’s chest.

 

“Hey,” Sonny croaks, surprised, “I can hear you!”

 

Rafael’s look of relief is short lived and he smacks his hand against Sonny’s chest lightly.

 

“What were you doing?” he demands.

 

“Fixing the light,” Sonny points out, like it should be obvious. And, well, no it’s not. The screwdriver has gone…somewhere. Sonny’s almost positive it’s still in his hand since he can almost feel it, but there’s nothing but burned flesh on his palm. The ladder is lying on its side, still open. The light’s off too. Right now, all it looks like is Sonny on the ground with a ladder nearby.

 

“Did I scream?” he asks, but Rafael’s gone back to his phone, moving away. He comes back quickly though, a towel in one hand, his phone in the other.

 

“Here,” he offers, folding the material to press it against Sonny’s head. “Did you lose consciousness?”

 

Sonny tries to shrug, but his body is stiff. “I don’t think so,” he says.

 

“You are a bona fide idiot,” Rafael grumbles, but he leans close to Sonny’s face, the hand not holding his phone coming to rest on Sonny’s cheek affectionately. “You’ve been electrocuted, fell from at least six feet, and have bashed your head open. You could have avoided all of that if you’d just turned off the fucking light.”

 

“When you put it like that,” Sonny says. “I thought you wanted me to fix it?”

 

Rafael sighs. “I don’t want you to do anything that could directly lead to your death. That includes climbing on heightened surfaces and sticking fingers into electrical sockets.”

 

Before Sonny can formulate a proper response because apparently the electricity short-circuited his ability to spar with Rafael, their front door opens. Which, Sonny only knows because Rafael runs away again.

 

“He’s in here,” he hears him say, and suddenly two EMAs come into view. Sonny wiggles the fingers of his uninjured hand at them.

 

Rafael explains quickly what’s happened, and neither EMA looks all that sympathetically toward Sonny. He offers a sheepish grin whenever one of them happens to touch a part of his body that hurts—which is mostly his head, his arm, and one of his legs.

 

When they get him up and onto a gurney, wheeling him out of the apartment and into the elevator, Rafael grabs his hand. “I want to ride with him,” he says. “I have his medical history anyway.”

 

“Love you, Rafi,” Sonny says, and predictably, Rafael smacks at his shoulder.

 

“Didn’t say that,” he says, but his smile is fond, and he presses a quick, chaste kiss to Sonny’s cheek.

 

“Yes, you did,” Sonny insists, rewarded with another kiss. Rafael steps back while the EMAs load Sonny into the ambulance. The female EMA and Rafael climb in with him while the male EMA heads for the driver’s seat.

 

“Fine,” Rafael says, reaching out to grab Sonny’s left hand again. “Although why you insist on injuring yourself with frightening frequency is beyond me. I don’t need you to give me a heart attack every other week.”

 

“But how else would I get you to admit you love me?” Sonny pouts.

 

“I do love you,” Rafael says, impatiently. “Stop trying to kill yourself. This is the third time in six months I’ve had to call for the EMAs. Soon they’ll be on our Christmas card list.”

 

“Next, you’ll say we should send them fruit baskets and flowers.” Sonny laughs. “Hey,” he says to the female EMA working on assessing the damage done to his head and neck, “what’s your favorite flower?”

 

“Mine’s daisies,” the male EMA calls back to them. Rafael hits Sonny’s shoulder again.

 

“Kayla Markham,” the female EMA says. “I like lilies. He’s Michael Purtacio.”

 

“Cool,” Sonny says, then winces as she tweaks something on his hand. “Rafi,” he whispers. Sonny always tries to be brave with pain but he’s never succeeded yet. Today is no different as Kayla brushes somewhere else, closer to his palm, and Sonny screams.

 

Rafael squeezes his uninjured hand, leaning over his face, saying, “Concentrate on me. Come on, Sonny. Look at me, breathe with me.”

 

“I really hate this,” Sonny says, hissing again as Kayla jostles something else.

 

“It’s actually a good thing you can feel what I’m doing,” she tells him. “It means the nerves are still active.”

 

“Today was supposed to be a lazy day,” Sonny complains, and Rafael hums soothingly. “You told me to play with electricity.”

 

Rafael blinks. “Not literally,” he says, outraged. “Tell you what, if you’re a good boy at the hospital, I’ll take tomorrow off and we’ll have a do-over of today, granted that you don’t get stuck with bed rest.”

 

Sonny smiles mischievously at him. “Bed rest sounds good, actually,” he says.

 

“Well, you’ll have to take it up with the doctor about what strenuous activities Sonny can participate in,” Kayla interjects.

 

Sonny feels his face go hot, and Rafael laughs. “We will have to see, then,” he says without a hint of embarrassment, pecking one last time at Sonny’s cheek. “I still love you, even if you are an idiot.”

 

“It’s because I’m your idiot, right?”

 

“Right,” Rafael snorts affectionately. “You’re my idiot.”


	4. Eleven - Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11\. Never underestimate the matchmaking of an interested judge.
> 
> 12\. This is the mentions of rape section. It ties in with about three or four other stories I've got (that you possibly might never get to see, sorry).

\--

**11. At work/school on Monday morning**

 

“Mr. Barba,” Judge Elana Barth says. Rafael looks up from his desk, surprised to see her standing in his doorway. She looks around with an appreciative smile. “Glad to see you so settled.”

 

“Thank you, your Honor,” he responds with a smile of his own. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company today?”

 

“I have a proposition for you,” she says. She steps into the room, keeping her coat draped over her arms as she wanders over to his bookcase, scanning the titles. “I promised a friend of mine that I would bring another body to sit on a jury for a mock trial.”

 

“And you thought of me?”

 

At least she has the decency to flush. “No,” she says, freeing a hand to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “My other choice has taken ill.”

 

“How far down the list am I?” he asks, not expecting her to answer honestly when she says, “Third.”

 

She laughs then, smiling again as she blushes harder. “Dr. Linden was above you, but she declined when she found out it was for Fordham Law instead of Harvard.”

 

“Would you hold it against me if I begged off too?”

 

“Yes,” she laughs. “Come on, Mr. Barba, my friend assures me these are the two best students he’s had in years. One of them is Harvard-standard. He just doesn’t have the money or pull to get there.”

 

“And what? Am I supposed to give up my precious Monday night to watch two _students_ battle over bragging rights?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“No. Nothing you offer me can suffice as a bribe.”

 

“Oh,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “How about first dibs on the next Rafael Barba?”

 

Now it’s Rafael’s turn to laugh. “You mean a hotshot lawyer who won’t take cases he can’t win?”

 

“No, a good lawyer and a better man. What more could you want? You’d be able to pick your own prodigy.”

 

“What makes this Fordham kid so good? Why not someone from Harvard?”

 

Barth smiles knowingly. “Come with me and find out,” she says.

 

Rafael sighs heavily, making sure she knows just how much it’s costing him to acquiesce to her request. “I’ll clear my schedule,” he promises. “So, who are we watching?”

 

Her eyes twinkle, and his stomach sinks. “The one we’re keeping an eye on is Dominick Carisi,” she says, confirming his suspicions. Well, it _is_ Carisi’s _alma mater_ , after all.

 

“Joy,” he says to her. “I can’t wait.”

 

“I’ll pick you up at 4:30,” she tells him, turning to leave. “Oh, by the way,” she calls over her shoulder, “wear something casual. We’re not trying to intimidate the _students_.”

 

Rafael snorts. There’s only one reason he’s going to follow her advice, and it’s not because he’s going to ‘intimidate’ anyone.

 

“Hey, Counselor,” Carisi says, and Rafael almost falls out of his chair. The detective waves at him from the doorway. “So, your secretary, Carmen, nice gal, said you weren’t busy, and I need your advice. We kinda got backed into a corner with a suspect, and I’d like your input. So would the Sarge, just so you know.”

 

Without waiting for Rafael to motion him in, Carisi bounces into the room, slapping a thin case-folder onto his desk. The whole time Rafael reviews it, Carisi sits quietly at the table in the corner, staring at his watch.

 

“I see you’ve included some notes on what you would suggest were you an actual lawyer,” he says, and Carisi jerks slightly.

 

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “So, what do you recommend we do?”

 

“Well.” Rafael lays his pen down on the folder, leaning back in his chair. “You seem to know what you’re doing here. Tell your sergeant I approve of your suggestions.”

 

Carisi doesn’t move. He stares at Rafael, mouth slightly open. It’s the first time he’s ever been speechless in Rafael’s presence, and, damn it, he’s going to enjoy it.

 

“Cat got your tongue, Detective?”

 

Carisi snaps to, shaking his head. “Yeah, no, wow. I’m good. So, you mind signing off on it or something, y’know, just in case the others need proof or something?”

 

Obligingly, Rafael signs a piece of paper with a flourish, blotting it and tucking it into the folder. Carisi stumbles to his desk to collect it. He mumbles a thank you and heads for the door.

 

As soon as he’s gone, Rafael tells Carmen to cancel any appointments. Maybe tonight won’t be as much of a wash as previously expected. Carisi has definitely shown improvement in his legal tactics, and he’s learning when not to speak, although he still gets overexcited.

 

Tonight might actually be fun, Rafael thinks.

 

\--

**12. Throwback Thursday**

 

Sonny looks up from the invitations, pausing in the middle of an address. “Hey, Rafi,” he says thoughtfully, pointing his pen at Rafael, “do you remember our first date?”

 

Rafael closes his book, uncrossing his legs and leaning forward with his arms braced on his knees. “How could I forget? You showed up two hours late, soaking wet, _bleeding_ , and asking if you minded if we had the date at the hospital because you’d been _mugged_.”

 

Sonny looks confused for all of ten seconds before poking Rafael viciously with the pen as he dissolves into laughter.

 

“You’re an asshole,” Sonny says. “That wasn’t even close to the first date.”

 

Rafael sits up, staring. “You’ve been mugged?” he demands, surprised at the shock he hears in his voice. Until now, it’d just been a story Amaro and Fin had shared over one too many drinks.

 

Sonny shrugs. “It’s New York,” he says, turning back to the invitations.

 

“When?”

 

Sonny shrugs again, and Rafael suspects he’s trying to ignore him.

 

“Come on, Sonny, tell me.”

 

“It was a long time ago. All they did was beat me up a little.” He leans his head back until it’s resting on Rafael’s knee. He blinks steadily, and Rafael sees a glimmer of unshed tears.

 

“That’s not all they did, is it,” he says softly, reaching out to run his fingers through Sonny’s hair. He continues to stroke the strands that fall over his knee while Sonny looks up at him.

 

“They took something. I didn’t have it anymore, but they thought I did. They were kids in my class.”

 

Rafael can read between the lines. Besides, Sonny’s trusted him with a tiny part of the story before. “Did you press charges?”

 

“No. My guidance counselor convinced me not to. They were part of the football team, and I was just a _ginzo_.” At Rafael’s blank look, Sonny explains, “It’s a derogatory name for Italian-Americans.”

 

“You’re not, you weren’t,” Rafael murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to Sonny’s forehead. “And you’re definitely not less important than some _athlete_.”

 

“I know.”

 

Rafael kisses him again, before straightening. “Our first date was when I asked you out for coffee a week after that mock trial when I was part of the jury and we ended up at that park across the street from your mom’s bakery.”

 

Sonny smiles. “Glad you remember that. I thought it was two weeks after that when you asked me out in front of your secretary.”

 

“That was the first official acknowledgement,” Rafael admits. “When I thought it might be more serious than coffee and perhaps an odd study session or two.”

 

“Now we’re here.” Sonny points at the invitations. “And you could at least try to fill some of them out.”

 

Rafael shakes his head, picking up his book again. “You’re doing a fine job by yourself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 11\. I really like Judge Barth so I included her. Also, it's not canon that Judge Linden has a doctorate--I just feel as primarily a family court judge, she would at least have a degree in child psychology.
> 
> 12\. The first story I started writing for Carisi is called "The Glass Ballerina" and it features a fourteen-year-old Carisi being sent to live with his aunt (dad's side) on a farm upstate. During his stay, his aunt's neighbor seduces him--think "That Summer" by Garth Brooks. It keeps getting more sinister the longer I work at it, hence why it's nowhere near finished.


	5. Thirteen - Fourteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angsty-fluff!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note: I've never seen any of the Friday the Thirteenth movies (except bits and pieces) so if something is really wrong, please point it out. Thanks!
> 
> I wrote 14.2 first but didn't really like it until after I'd written 14.1. So, you get both!

\--

**13. Friday. As in Friday the 13th.**

 

It’s supposed to be a day off; it’s their anniversary. A year now.

 

 

“We got a guy running around in a hockey mask killing camp counselors,” Sonny says. “So far, only one survivor, and she says he called himself Jason Vorhees. I thought he never spoke?”

 

“Seriously?” Rafael groans. “You’re working on Friday the 13th and you have _that_ for a case?”

 

“It could be worse,” Sonny says. “It could always be worse.” He winces at his words, adding quickly, “But, yeah, it’s pretty bad.”

 

“Just don’t get caught,” Rafael says.

 

It should be easy to follow his advice. But, it’s not.

 

First, Sonny and Rollins are separated from the others by the maniac, who, despite being an obvious enthusiast of the movies, insists on speaking to them, detailing his plan to incapacitate them and leave them as a warning.

 

Second, and a major deviance from the movies, he has a gun.

 

Which he uses to shoot Rollins in the leg.

 

“Hey now,” Sonny says as soothingly as he can despite his panic, hands over his head as the gun is pointed at his face. “What did you hope to accomplish by going on a spree like this?”

 

The man actually thinks about it, brow crinkling in concentration. “I wanted the fame and recognition,” he finally says. “I mean, I am Jason Vorhees reincarnated.”

 

“Really?” Sonny says, feigning interest, while he tracks the movements of the gun. “How does a fictional character become reincarnated?”

 

“I’m not fictional!” the man insists.

 

“Well,” Sonny says, stepping closer to Rollins and dropping to a knee next to her. She is barely conscious, hands gripping her upper thigh. “Well,” he repeats, “if you’re Jason Vorhees, where’s your machete?”

 

The man glares at him. “A machete is an ineffectual killing implement. I find the gun to be more elegant. Less blood. Less screams. More death.”

 

“So, you run around killing people who have nothing to do with your back story?”

 

“I’ll kill you!” Sonny flinches when the man pulls the trigger, but nothing happens. Out of ammo or maybe jammed, Sonny doesn’t care.

 

He scoops up Rollins’s gun and aims it at the man. “Put your hands up,” he says. “You’re under arrest.”

 

Lo and behold, the inelegant machete makes a reappearance and the man charges at Sonny, screaming. Sonny fires two shots. Winging shot and center mass shot.

 

The man goes down, moaning and groaning.

 

“I’ll be back,” he says softly, blood staining his lips. “You can’t kill me.”

 

Rafael meets them at the hospital. He stays by Sonny’s side the entire time, making soothing sounds and fetching tiny cups of water.

 

Rollins will recover nicely.

 

“It’s just shock,” Benson says, and Sonny turns his head to track her pacing.

 

“We’ll be fine if you want to go check on Rollins,” Rafael says, and maybe it’s just Sonny’s imagination, but his tone is icy. Benson nods sharply and leaves without another word.

 

Rafael grabs Sonny’s hand, the only warmth in a freezing room. He rouses enough to twitch his hand.

 

“Friday the 13th, huh,” Sonny mumbles. “He’s really gone, though? He’s not gonna come after us, is he?”

 

“You watch too many horror movies,” Rafael says, not unkindly. “If you want, we can go see his body in the morgue.”

 

“I killed him?” Sonny whispers, pulling his hand free so he can press both over his face. “Oh, God, I killed someone.”

 

He feels Rafael tugging at his shoulders and he leans into his touch. “Sonny,” he says, and Sonny peeks at him through his fingers, “if you hadn’t shot him, he would have killed both you and Rollins. You saved her life.”

 

“Will you save me?” Sonny glances up, catching a look of profound sadness on Rafael’s face.

 

“Always, Sonny,” he promises. “Always.”

 

\--

**14.1. Aftermath of a night of heavy drinking (or just staying up too late if you’d rather)**

 

When Rafael gets home, it’s late.

 

He tries to be quiet, unlocking the door and pushing it shut slowly.

 

“’m awake,” Sonny calls from the couch, and he turns on the lamp to prove it. He rubs at one eye, blinking in the light. “I tried to stay up,” he says when Rafael sits next to him.

 

“You didn’t have to.”

 

“I know.” He grins sleepily, patting at Rafael’s pockets until he can pull out a sweet. Rafael’s taken to carrying them in all his overcoats. Never know when he’s going to get a stolen moment with his boyfriend.

 

“But,” Sonny continues, poking his tongue out as he uses clumsy fingers to fumble the wrapper off, “you always wait up for me, so I wanted to wait for you.” He pops the sweet into his mouth, leaning into Rafael and snuffling against his shoulder.

 

Rafael shakes his head. “Sonny, you have work tomorrow. I told you I’d be late. You shouldn’t have stayed up.”

 

Sonny flops a hand onto Rafael’s thigh, and there he feels the fine tremors.

 

“Oh,” he says softly, wrapping an arm around him. “Did you have another nightmare?”

 

He shakes his head, but he tucks tighter into Rafael’s side.

 

“C’mon, let’s go lie down. I’m right here.” Awkwardly, Rafael manages to get them up and heading toward the bedroom. Sonny lets go of him long enough to wait for him to change into pajamas.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs when Rafael brings him his medication. Rafael kisses his forehead.

 

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he says. He checks and double-checks the doors and windows, turning off the lights and climbing into bed with Sonny.

 

“I’ll be loopy tomorrow,” he reminds him, and Rafael sighs.

 

“I’ll call Liv and let her know you won’t be in.”

 

“But that means you’ll miss work too!”

 

“Yes, Sonny,” he says, hand settling onto Sonny’s shoulder so he can pull him closer. “Someone has to take care of you when you’re all loopy off anti-anxiety medication.”

 

“At least you’ll do it,” Sonny whispers, almost too soft for Rafael to hear.

 

“I’ll always be here for you,” Rafael says. “I hope you know that.”

 

“I do,” Sonny insists. “But, what if I’m not? What if something happens and _you’re_ not?”

 

“We’ll work it out,” Rafael says. “We always do. _Confía en mi.”_

 

_“Lo hago. Te amo.”_

 

 _“Yo también_. Now, please, try to sleep. I’ll still be here when you wake.”

 

\--

**14.2. Aftermath of a night of heavy drinking (or just staying up too late if you’d rather)**

 

Sonny tries to walk straight, but the sidewalk keeps tilting, and he bounces off walls and meters and people. He thinks he keeps saying sorry, but his lips are numb and he can’t hear himself over the roaring in his ears.

 

Maybe five beers (and five chasers) really had been too much.

 

But, he’d been celebrating. What, he couldn’t remember, only that it had been a good thing.

 

Anyway. He watches his feet for a while, amazed that he doesn’t actually fall.

 

It takes three tries to get his key in the door, and really, Rafael still has to let him in.

 

“I,” he starts, and Rafael holds up a hand. “But—”

 

“No excuses. Do you know how many times I called you?” Sonny fumbles at his pockets, finding his phone tucked into the secret inside pocket. Wow. Yeah. 17 missed calls.

 

“Sorry,” he tries. The floor is still rolling under his feet, but the buzz from the alcohol is almost gone. “We were celebrating.”

 

“Yeah, I called all of them too. They left you alone at the bar and you were too drunk to realize it.”

 

Sonny sobers further, reaching out to grasp at Rafael’s arm. “They did?”

 

Rafael shakes himself, opening his arms so Sonny can press against him. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he says softly.

 

“You won’t.”

 

“You’ve got to be more careful, Sonny.”

 

“I will.”

 

Rafael sighs. “Bed. Drink a glass of water before you lie down. C’mon.” While Sonny stumbles toward the bathroom, Rafael locks the door and grabs the aspirin from the medicine shelf in the kitchen.

 

“Do you want me to call you in sick tomorrow?” he asks when they finally do lie down, Sonny stripped down to a t-shirt and boxers while Rafael wears cotton pajamas.

 

“Can we play it by ear?” Sonny knows if he misses work, Rafael will too, just to take care of him. If his hangover isn’t too bad, he’ll suck it up.

 

Rafael pulls the blankets over them both, tucking the edge along Sonny’s back and wrapping an arm around him. Sonny nestles into him, pressing his head under Rafael’s chin.

 

“I love you,” he whispers, and Rafael’s hand, resting on his shoulder, twitches, the fingers tightening. He doesn’t speak though, and Sonny imagines he didn’t hear him. He snuggles in farther, sliding an arm between their bodies to splay his hand on Rafael’s chest.

 

Just when he’s almost dozed off, Rafael says, “I love you too.”

 

“I love you more,” Sonny says, softly, and Rafael huffs a quiet laugh that shakes both of them.

 

“I love you most. Now go to sleep, Sonny.”


	6. Fifteen - Twenty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bunnies, hair care, blood, pianos, more hair care, and zombies!
> 
> Mostly fluff.
> 
> Maybe some language? You'd think I'd remember--I wrote it!

\--

**15. Kittens (or puppies. Or other small animals of fluff.)**

 

“It’s a rabbit,” Rafael says incredulously, staring at the white and black body curled in the palm of Sonny’s hand. He had Sonny pegged as a dog lover.

 

Sonny nods enthusiastically, running a finger over the head of the tiny creature. The rabbit arches into it, pressing its twitchy nose against his finger, petting itself. Sonny laughs softly.

 

“No,” Rafael says.

 

“But I didn’t say anything,” Sonny protests.

 

“I can hear you thinking,” Rafael snorts. “No. We cannot have any pets. I don’t care if a rabbit is the lowest maintenance pet you can find. Neither of us works few enough hours to actually care for it.”

 

Sonny pouts a bit before sighing. “You’re right, as always.” He hands the small bunny back to the store associate. “So, your case?”

 

Rafael smiles sadly, to say, ‘See?’ and Sonny nods, taking his hand and steering him toward the door.

 

“So, my case…”

 

\--

**16. One or both are blushing**

 

Rafael uses mousse. Sonny uses gel. It’s that simple.

 

Sonny’s hair doesn’t lie flat until he liberally coats it in gel, combing and combing until it finally molds to his head.

 

Rafael takes two fingers of mousse, runs it through his hair, combs it once, and bounces out of the bathroom.

 

The first time Rafael does Sonny’s hair for him is after Sonny’s been shot in the shoulder. He can barely move his right arm, let alone get both hands up there to spread product and comb, comb, comb it into submission.

 

Rafael drags a chair from their dining room table into the bathroom—his mother would have a heart attack if she could see them now—and has Sonny sit. Then he starts working mousse into his hair.

 

“Hey, no,” Sonny protests, his first words of the day. There’s an edge to it that Rafael attributes to the pain he must be in. “That’s yours.”

 

“So?” Rafael raises an eyebrow so Sonny can see exactly how stupid Rafael finds that comment. Sonny shrugs, left shoulder rising and lowering, right one staying still. So, he’s learned that at least.

 

“It’s yours. I don’t want you wasting it on me.”

 

“It’s my choice, and I say it’s not wasting.” He fluffs at Sonny’s hair a bit, curling strands around his fingers. Sonny’s eyes slide closed and he relaxes, finally, the tension bleeding out of his posture. Rafael spends more time than necessary shaping and molding Sonny’s hair, and his boyfriend just lets him, sighing softly every time Rafael rakes his fingers over the back of his skull.

 

By the time he’s done, Sonny’s blushing, head tilted down, staring at his lap, and oh-okay, he’s half-hard, tenting the front of his pants.

 

Rafael smiles. Says, “Want me to take care of that too?”

 

Sonny blushes harder, murmuring something that sounds like, “No?”

 

“Sure?” Rafael goes to the sink and rinses off his hands, watching Sonny in the mirror.

 

Sonny does that one-shoulder shrug again, whispers, “No.”

 

Rafael turns around, sinking to his knees in front of Sonny, who draws in an unsteady breath. “Last chance, Detective,” Rafael says softly. Sonny reaches with his left hand, petting at Rafael’s shoulder. Apparently, it’s the only answer he can manage, and Rafael takes it as a yes, unbuckling Sonny’s belt and opening his pants.

 

\--

**17\. One or both are dying**

 

His hands are wet, pressed flat to his chest. He leans down, breathes hard against his lips.

 

 No response.

 

He sobs. Harsh. Hurting.

 

He presses harder.

 

Breathes again.

  

“No,” he says, breathing again, and again. Dizzy. Sits back, slaps at his chest.

 

Sobs, “No!”

 

“Come on, breathe. Please. For me.”

 

He’s crying. Can’t stop. Shaking too hard to help.

 

He collapses over him. Ear against his still chest.

 

“Please,” he says one last time, looking up through his tears. “Please, take me too.”

 

\--

**18. One or both playing an instrument**

 

Sonny’s first official concert is a bust. Half the people he invited (lookin’ at you Squad) don’t show, and hardly any of the patrons at the bar notice that there’s a nervous kid picking at the ivories.

 

But, Rafael is there, hanging on every note, humming along when he doesn’t know the words or there are none and outright singing when Sonny starts taking requests.

 

After, when Sonny’s got fifty bucks and all the free beer he doesn’t want, Rafael sits with him, knocking shoulders.

 

Takes one of his hands, traces the lines on his palm.

 

Sonny giggles when it tickles, his breath catching when Rafael presses a soft kiss on the center of his hand and trails small brushes of his lips over his fingers.

 

“I want you to teach me,” he whispers against Sonny’s ear, hand warm on the back of his neck as he crushes their lips together, cheap beer and bar nuts serving as kindling for the growing fire.

 

\--

**19. With exciting, new haircuts**

 

“Detective, what did you do to your hair?”

 

Sonny glances up from VICAP to find ADA Barba leaning over him, a horrified expression affixed to his face. Self-consciously, Sonny tugs at a particularly long curl. He _knew_ he should have gotten a haircut.

 

“My sister wanted to try a perm,” he says, as nonchalantly as he can.

 

“That is not a perm.”

 

Sonny barely manages to not roll his eyes at the ADA.

 

“No, never said it was. I talked her out of the perm.”

 

“But?” Barba sips at his coffee, fingers twitching on the cup. Sonny's not sure why he's acting so interested in his hair.

 

“She said I’d have to leave it down for a week. Just ‘til she’s not mad at me anymore.”

 

“And you actually listened?”

 

Sonny shrugs, tugging at the curl again. “Figured it’d be easier to get it over with. When Bella wants something, she gets it.”

 

“Well,” Barba says, reaching out to brush a finger down Sonny’s un-slicked hair. “I like it.”

 

“Really? Your facial expression seemed to suggest otherwise, Counselor.”

 

Barba tugs sharply on the bothersome curl, letting it spring from his hand. Sonny glares at him. “Really, Detective,” Barba says, voice soft, eyes warm.

 

Something is definitely up with the ADA.

 

“Maybe I should leave it down more often?” Sonny asks, and Barba shrugs.

 

“Wouldn’t say no.”

 

Sonny smirks at him. “Wouldn’t or couldn’t?”

 

Barba tugs on his hair again. “Both,” he says, same soft voice, and _oh_ , Sonny finally gets it.

 

“I’ll let you know when the week is up, hey, Counselor?”

 

Barba nods. “I look forward to it, Detective.”

 

Sonny has a feeling that his hair is most certainly going to be pulled the entire week. Ah, well. It's just hair.

 

\--

**20\. Zombies.**

 

“So, Fin suggested we watch this TV show. It’s about zombies.”

 

Rafael raises an eyebrow. He hates zombies. Sonny knows this.

 

Still. Fin suggested that show about the teacher with cancer. And it turned out to be…watchable. Barely. No, Rafael is not going to admit that Fin has good taste in television shows.

 

Sonny goes to the guilt-closet. A few minutes later, he comes back holding a video cassette.

 

“ _Night of the Living Dead_ ,” he says, dropping to his knees to dig out the VCR where it’s been pushed to the back of their entertainment section. “It’s cheesy but a classic. And I don’t think I’d like _The Walking Dead_ much either, anyway.”

 

“Is this another lame attempt to get me to hide in your arms?” Barba teases. Sonny shakes his head, dusting off his pants as he stands.

 

He grabs a remote and sits next to him on the couch. “I just wanna show you it. If you don’t like it, we can turn it off.”

 

“How cheesy?”

 

“Velveeta. But, it gets good.”

 

Rafael waves his hand at the screen, and Sonny grins at him as he presses ‘play’ on the remote.

 

Sonny’s right, the cheese oozes on the screen, but it does get good and the ending makes Rafael almost tear up. Sonny shrugs when he puts it away.

 

“So, what do I tell Fin?” he asks.

 

“Tell him zombies suck and we’re not watching his show.”

 

Sonny gets a _look_ on his face. The one that means he’s got a bad joke. “Know what else sucks?” he asks mischievously, grinning at Rafael.

 

Rafael groans and covers his eyes with a hand. “You?” he says.

 

“Yeah," Sonny laughs enthusiastically, grabbing his other hand and pulling him to his feet. "Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, no. No sequel and no begging for a sequel to #16 (I can't do it justice; I don't usually write sex scenes anyway).
> 
> #17 happens before #16 (and is directly related to the events in #27--you'll see what I mean).


	7. Twenty-One - Twenty-Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Halloween, Vacation, Christmas, and First Big Fight (after)

\--

**21\. It’s a Western!**

 

Their first official Halloween, Rafael chooses their costumes. He over thinks it, picking a half a dozen different ones and then a few backups. When it comes time to get dressed, he has three laid out for final approval.

 

Sonny takes one look and picks one immediately.

 

Rafael doesn’t get it until he sees the toy gun sitting in a holster low on Sonny’s hip, a cowboy hat jammed on his head. The plaid isn’t bad either and the boots send shivers through him.

 

Sonny holds out a silver painted star, saying, softly, “Sheriff?”

 

Rafael swallows hard and takes the star, pinning it with shaking fingers.

 

Olivia notices that they coordinated, gushing happily as she tucks everyone in close for a picture, Sonny brushing shoulders with Rafael while they try not to force their grins.

 

Afterwards, when they’re getting ready for bed, Rafael stops Sonny from taking off the hat. “Leave the boots too,” he says. Sonny gives him a confused smile and obeys his request—demand?

 

And after that, Sonny leans close and whispers, “Ride ‘em, cowboy.”

 

One of these days, Rafael is going to kill him.

 

\--

**22. In another country (which one has gone full-tourist mode? Which regrets their life?)**

 

 

It’s beautiful.

 

Rafael stares all around them, taking in the bright sunshine and the passing people decked in vibrant colors.

 

Beside him, Sonny looks shell-shocked and terrified, clutching the map with a death grip.

 

Rafael snaps a picture and Sonny glares at him.

 

“What’s the matter, Detective?” Rafael asks, grinning. “Never been outside of the U.S.?”

 

“Actually,” Sonny says, a little sullenly Rafael thinks, “no, I haven’t, _Counselor_.”

 

“Well, is there anything you want to do while we’re here?”

 

“Eat?” Sonny says, turning so he can point at the little _caffé_ behind them. Rafael nods, taking Sonny’s hand to lead him across the pedestrian-littered street.

 

“So why haven’t you ever traveled?” he asks.

 

Sonny glares. He’s been irritable this entire time—the plane ride, the first night in the hotel—and frankly, it’s getting on Rafael’s nerves.

 

“My parents believed in culture, but we didn’t have the money to travel. And now, I either don’t have the time or the money.”

 

“So,” Rafael says, hand brushing down Sonny’s arm to catch his attention, “what you’re saying is you’ve never really been on vacation?” He grins at Sonny’s headshake.

 

“You never went on vacations as a child either,” he points out, and Rafael nods in agreement.

 

“But,” he says, “I’ve managed to take in a lot of the world even with having a late start to it.”

 

Sonny grunts. Rafael squeezes his hand. “Look, I get that you’re tired and cranky, but if you don’t at least pretend to have fun during the week we’re here, I’ll never bring you with me again.”

 

“I’m having fun, really,” Sonny says, returning Rafael’s glare with intensity. “Like you said, I’m tired. And maybe I don’t want to share you with Italy.”

 

Rafael blinks. Sonny’s jetlag must be catching because that made no sense whatsoever.

 

“I mean,” Sonny continues, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his head with their still-joined hands, “you’re bouncing all over the place, taking pictures and spouting random facts you just learned. You’re leaving fingerprints everywhere we go, and maybe I feel a little jealous ‘cause you haven’t been that attentive to me lately.”

 

Rafael blinks again. “What?” he says, jerking his hand free. “ _I_ haven’t been attentive to you?”

 

Sonny shrugs. “Why are we here?”

 

“We’re celebrating you graduating from Fordham.” Rafael doesn’t add the ‘duh’ that he thinks.

 

“Except,” Sonny says, sighing sadly, “I graduated last year.”

 

“You did?” Rafael stops, thinks, no, Sonny should have graduated about three weeks ago. Unless. “You were in the accelerated program?”

 

Sonny nods. “Managed three years in a little over a year and a half.”

 

“I’m sorry. I should have known.” Rafael thinks back over the past year, realizing that he and Sonny have been drifting, untethered. He reaches into his satchel, pulling out the itinerary. He starts shredding it, and Sonny watches him, an amused smirk on his lips.

 

“So,” Rafael says, putting the pieces of paper back in the satchel and latching it. “What do you want to do?”

 

“Eat.” Sonny points at a table. “And then, maybe we could go for a walk on the beach and hold hands, like we used to?”

 

Rafael nods. He strokes a hand over Sonny’s and senses the tethers reattaching, feels relief at their familiarity. Sonny’s grin says he feels the same, and Rafael leans in to kiss him, suddenly aware that this is the first time he’s initiated any contact with Sonny in a long while.

 

“We’re still celebrating,” he says, “even if I’m a year late. Congratulations.”

 

“Does this mean I get to order dessert?”

 

\--

**23.  Polaroid Picture**

 

Rafael takes pictures all the time. With his phone, with Sonny’s phone. With anything that has a built-in camera or is a camera.

 

He uses Sonny as a model, posed shots, candid shots, happy moments, sad moments. That one funny moment when Sonny almost knocked the lights off their tree chasing Bean.

 

Sonny sometimes has a two-minute warning, a quick, “Put this on,” and Rafael shoving him toward the bathroom.

 

One time, and Sonny vows to delete them if he ever finds them, Rafael takes pictures of him in nothing but a tie and a fedora.

 

For their first Christmas, Sonny searches for the perfect gift. He already kinda knows what Rafi’s getting him—an official “Guess who I’m dating” party, which is less of a gift and more of a confirmation of what everybody already knows. Hell, three weeks into their relationship, Rafael’s mom—not Sonny’s—congratulated them.

 

It takes a bit of research, but Sonny finally settles on something he thinks Rafael will love.

 

Now, all he has to do is wait for Christmas morning.

 

The eve of, the precinct has an office party, and Rafael makes Sonny wear a tux. He wears one himself, but Sonny still gripes about being overdressed. Yes, Rafael is the most well-dressed man Sonny’s ever met, much less dated, but that doesn’t mean hundred-dollar suits are as abominable as Rafael makes them out to be.

 

Although, the whistles they are greeted with when they walk in together make it a little more worth it to be a penguin for the evening.

 

“Didn’t know you were trying to spiff up Carisi,” Amaro jokes, clapping Sonny’s shoulder a little harder than necessary.

 

“Oh, you know me,” Rafael murmurs demurely. “Always looking for a project.”

 

Sonny grunts in annoyance. He gets that Rafael doesn’t care to disclose their relationship, but the not telling anyone is kinda killing Sonny. Amaro already knows—Rafael told him a few months back—and Rollins has guessed as much, handing him two ten dollar bills and telling him to make sure Rafael got them back. Fin and the Sarge are the only two who haven’t acknowledged it in some way.

 

Speaking of, the Sarge swoops in and whisks Rafael away, barely a glance spared for Sonny left standing without his date in a room full of people he knows probably still don’t want him here.

 

At least Amaro stays next to him, offering a shrug when Sonny turns to him.

 

“Rafael was supposed to tell everyone,” he says, and Amaro give him another sympathetic shrug.

 

At that precise moment, a collective gasp echoes through the room, and Amaro points at Rafael standing on one of the pushed-back desks. He holds up a glass of champagne and taps lightly at it with a fork. The crystal note silences the room.

 

Rafael coughs slightly, nervously, and that’s a sight Sonny didn’t think he’d ever get to see. “Thank you for your attention.”

 

Sonny moves closer, aware that Amaro is trailing him, a hand on his shoulder—in support?

 

“I just wanted to make an announcement.” Rafael coughs again, searching the room, until almost desperately his gaze latches onto Sonny’s face. He raises his glass higher, the amber liquid catching the light. “For the past six months, I’ve been dating Detective Carisi.”

 

“We know!” Fin calls back at him, and the room breaks into laughter.

 

Rafael looks a little rattled, taking a sip of his champagne. “Yes, well, just thought you should know.” Sonny holds up his hand, and reluctantly, Rafael takes it to help himself off the desk.

 

“Thank you,” Sonny says, grinning.

 

Rafael finishes the rest of his drink in one swallow. He sets the glass down carefully. “Okay. I’ve had enough hobnobbing for the evening. What about you, Detective? Want to find a quiet corner?”

 

Sonny shakes his head. “I was gonna wait ‘til tomorrow, but I think you need it tonight.” He leads Rafael to his desk—thankfully not the one Rafael stood on—and digs out the present. Three years of gift-wrapping at Macy’s in the Staten Island Mall had taught him well, and it is more than adequately presentable.

 

“Didn’t think you’d be good at this sort of thing,” Rafael remarks, and Sonny claps a hand over his heart.

 

“You wound me, Counselor,” he mocks.

 

“I really should wait for tomorrow,” Rafael muses, shaking the box lightly. “But, I suppose I’ve always loved early presents too.” Carefully, he unwraps it, wincing as the paper tears a bit where the tape stuck.

 

When he finally pulls out the OneStep SX-70, his eyes go wide.

 

Sonny waits, graciously, he thinks.

 

Still, Rafael just stares at the camera in his hands. He turns it over and over, examining it from every angle. Just when Sonny’s starting to get nervous and maybe worrying that he over-thought the gift, Rafael snaps a picture of him.

 

“Oh my God,” he says softly, when the photo prints. He grabs it gently, holding it up and squinting at it.

 

In the picture, Sonny is blinking, and he looks half-drunk. He frowns at it, and Rafael takes his picture again. This one is marginally better, and Sonny smiles at it. Of course, Rafael takes a picture of that too.

 

“Oh my God,” he repeats, throwing his arms around Sonny and squeezing. “I love it. Thank you.”

 

“I’m glad,” Sonny says, taking the camera and snapping a photograph of Rafael. He hands it back to let Rafael see it. “Thanks for telling everyone we’re dating.”

 

 _“Claro que sí, mi amor_.”

 

Rafael takes one last picture when they kiss.

 

Sonny thinks it looks the best.

 

\--

**24.  Post-it Notes**

 

The first time Rafael leaves him a Post-it note, Sonny crumples it up and throws it away without looking at it.

 

He hasn’t accepted Rafael’s apology yet—maybe never—and Post-it notes are a terrible way to communicate.

 

Still, he grabs the hot pink ones from Rollins’s desk, avoiding her stink-eye and the way she protectively gathers the remaining stacks.

 

He scribbles quickly, crossing out, ripping up, and all around making a mess of his desk before he has the perfect reply for the note he never read.

 

Of course, in the end, that’s all he writes: “Didn’t read your note. Too busy ignoring you!” Take that, Counselor, he thinks smugly to himself. The worst Rafael can do is break up with him, which, yeah, Sonny would rather not do since, somewhere deep inside himself he has to admit, he does love the gruff and begrudging way Rafael spends time with him.

 

He grabs the Post-it, crumpling it in his fist.

 

Maybe he’s being ridiculous?

 

“Hey, Rollins,” he calls, in need of advice, even if it’s from someone who looks like she still wants to kill him for stealing her property.

 

“What, Carisi?” she growls. He tosses her Post-it pad back to her.

 

“What happens if you fight with your significant other and aren’t ready to forgive them, but really maybe you should?”

 

She stares at him with a blank look, which is not really any better than her angry look. “I don’t know, Carisi,” she finally says, turning to the reports they’re supposed to be working on. “Figure it out for yourself. You’re a big boy.”

 

“But,” he persists, scampering across the bullpen and sitting on the edge of her desk. Deliberately, she moves all her Post-it notes into a drawer on the opposite side and slams it shut. “What should be said?”

 

“How should I know?” she demands. “It’s not my relationship, Carisi. It’s yours.”

 

He thinks on that for a moment before nodding at her surprisingly helpful words. “Borrow another note?” he asks hopefully.

 

She sighs dramatically, digging out the hot pink Post-its and begrudgingly handing them to him.

 

“Thanks.”

 

He uses only one. Writes, “We need to talk—SC.”

 

Rollins snaps her fingers until he tosses the notes back to her.

 

“I hope this works,” he says, sticking it to the top of the stack of finished reports. They’re going to Rafael’s office for final review. Fingers definitely crossed that it works. And that he’ll actually know _what_ they’re supposed to talk about.


	8. Twenty-Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU-Tangled!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In medias res and incomplete. Sorry about that.
> 
> Read end notes for more information.

\--

**25.  AU of your favorite Animated Movie (bonus points if it’s drawn in the style!)**

 

“I did it,” Rafael says, in disbelief. The frying pan is still heavy in his hand, and he uses it to point at his reflection. “I did it!” He laughs, suddenly, the sound bubbling out of him. “Hah! Can’t handle myself, eh, Father? What would you say if you could see me now?”

 

On the floor, the strange man shifts, moaning softly.

 

Rafael jumps, frying pan held out defensively. The man moans again louder.

 

Fin mimes hitting him again, and Rafael nods. He closes his eyes on the swing, and the crack it makes as it bounces off the man’s head is even more sickening the second time around.

 

There’s blood on the frying pan, and blood on the man’s head.

 

“Oh,” Rafael says softly, tearing off a strip from his shirt to press against the wound. “I didn’t mean to hurt you so much,” he apologizes. Fin chitters worriedly while Rafael tends the man.

 

The man isn’t moving and isn’t making noise, and Rafael starts crying. What if he killed him?

 

“Father said not to sing for anyone,” he says to Fin. The chameleon shrugs.

 

“Well.” Rafael wraps some hair around his hand, pressing it against the man’s head. “He’s not here and I’m not going to be a murderer.”

 

He sings, then, the verses flowing easily from him. The longer he sings, the more his hair shimmers, until all the hair glows, and the wound begins knitting itself closed.

 

Shortly after the light fades, and Rafael starts unwinding his hair, the man sits up, blinking like the light hurts.

 

At least it’s the only sign of the previous injury, and Rafael lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

 

“Why are you in my tower?” he demands when the man finally turns to look at him. “Are you a ruffian?”

 

“A ruffian?” the man repeats. “No,” he shakes his head, wincing at the movement. “What’d you do to me? What’d you hit me with?”

 

Proudly, Rafael hefts the frying pan. 

 

“A skillet?” the man squawks incredulously. “You hit me with a _cooking utensil_?”

 

They stare at each other for a long moment, and then the man stands up, dusting off his pants even though there’s no dirt.

 

“Why?” he says suddenly. Rafael shrugs.

 

“Who are you and what you do want with me? Do you want to use my hair for nefarious purposes?”

 

“What?” The man gapes at him. “Why on earth would I want your hair?”

 

“You don’t want my hair?”

 

“No! Goodness, though, there’s a lot of it. Ever thought of getting it cut?”

 

Rafael shakes his head. “Why are you in my tower, then? And who are you?”

 

The man starts walking around the room, squinting at Rafael’s paintings, fingers trailing over but not quite touching them. “Been busy, eh?” he remarks softly, almost to himself. Rafael thinks he’s not going to answer either of his questions until suddenly, he turns and marches back to where Rafael, Fin curled on his shoulder, still stands.

 

“I’m Dominick Carisi, although most people just call me Sonny.” He holds out his hand, and Rafael stares at it. Sonny—Carisi?— _Sonny?_ —Carisi—looks from his hand to Rafael’s expectantly before pulling it back, setting it on the strap of his satchel, and saying, “How I came to be in your tower is a matter of a horse and this satchel.”

 

“What’s in the satchel?” Rafael asks. Carisi shrugs.

 

“Official castle business.”

 

“How did the horse get you in my tower?”

 

“It chased me,” Carisi says. He fiddles with the satchel, and Rafael catches a glimpse of something shiny inside. Carisi notices him looking and quickly fastens it closed again. “So, Princess,” he says, clapping his hands together loudly. “What about you?”

 

“I’m not a princess,” Rafael retorts sharply, pointing the frying pan at Carisi.

 

Carisi ignores him. “What’s your name?”

 

“I don’t think I should tell you it.”

 

“Suit yourself.” Carisi moves away again, heading toward the bookcase. He stares up at the painting of the lights.

 

Fin tugs on Rafael’s ear, chirping quietly. “I know,” Rafael responds. He looks at Carisi, at the way he moves assuredly, poking now at the cookies. He’s probably been over the whole kingdom; he’d make a fine enough guide. “I _do_ need someone to take me.”

 

“So, Carisi,” he begins, and Carisi throws a “Sonny” over his shoulder. Rafael ignores him, saying, “Since you’re on business from the castle, you will act as my guide and ensure I travel safely to and from the floating lights tomorrow night.”

 

“You mean the lantern thing they do for the lost prince?” Rafael nods excitedly. “Yeah, no can do. See, castle business means the kingdom and I aren’t exactly _trés bien_ right now.”

 

Fin chitters again, slotting one curled foot into the palm of his other, and Rafael nods.

 

When Carisi comes close again, he smacks him with the frying pan. Carisi drops with a soft sigh, almost as if he was expecting it.

 

While he’s unconscious again, Rafael drags the chair to him, propping him against it and wrapping his hair around him to hold him in place.

 

Then, he takes the satchel, peeking in at the sparkly thing.

 

It’s a circle of wrought metal, bronze in color, set with a few stones of red and blue.

 

Something niggles at the back of his head. He should recognize it. Really, he should. He shows it to Fin who encourages him to try it on. It fits neatly on his head, and he turns to Fin, only to find the chameleon shaking his head.

 

“Maybe,” he murmurs, prying up a floorboard and hiding the…tiara into the crevice. He replaces the board and returns to where Carisi is still unconscious. He’s bleeding again, so Rafael sings to heal him.

 

Fin scampers up to perch on Carisi’s shoulder, slapping and smacking him gently to awaken him. When that fails, he sticks out his tongue, letting the thin tendril slip into Carisi’s ear.

 

“Gah!” Carisi splutters as he jerks in his bonds. He dislodges Fin by rubbing his ear against his shoulder. “Ew!”

 

Fin looks offended, and Rafael picks him up.

 

“Here’s the new deal: I will return your satchel to you once you’ve brought me back home after we see the lanterns tomorrow night.”

 

Carisi sighs deeply. “Fine. I suppose it could be worse.”

 

“Really?” Rafael squeals, tugging his hair free from Carisi. “Oh, I can’t believe it!” He drops the frying pan on Father’s chair to grab Carisi’s hands and tug him to his feet. “I’m really going to see the lanterns!”

 

Carisi smiles in amusement, watching him dance around the room. “Well,” he says, “if you wanna actually see the lanterns, we’d better get a move on. It’s a fair bit of travel and we’ve only got,” he checks his bare wrist, “oh, about two and a half days. C’mon, Princess.”

 

“I’m not a princess.” Rafael crosses his arms and pouts.

 

Carisi laughs. “C’mon all the same. If you don’t want me to call you princess, you really should tell me what I can call you.”

 

“You, you can call me...” Rafael glances around the room. He points at the frying pan he left on the chair.

 

“What?” Carisi laughs again, and Rafael really hates him. “Cast iron? Skillet? Kitchen utensil? Come on, help me out here.”

 

After a short conference with Fin, Rafael says, “Skillet sounds acceptable.”

 

“Okay, Skillet,” Carisi says, tugging his vest straight and brushing a lock of hair off his face. He avoids the nonexistent bumps where Rafael hit him, wincing anyway. “Let’s go.” He takes a running leap and lands on the window sill, one hand braced on the frame as he leans out into the summer air.

 

He reaches under the window sill and holds up two arrows. He uses them to stab into the exterior, wedging them between the stones and lowering himself out of sight.

 

Well, Carisi can climb down. Rafael knows a quicker way out. He tucks Fin into his collar, smiling at the tugging as Fin secures himself in his hair.

 

With a last glance around to see if he wants to bring anything with him on his adventure, which nets only the frying pan, he tosses his hair over the hook, swaying on the ledge and watching as Carisi laboriously works his way down the tower.

 

A deep breath, and Rafael lets go, falling forward into air, with a loud whoop.

 

It’s exhilarating.

 

The wind rushes past his ears, the weight of the skillet tucked into the back of his pants the only thing that feels real. Even Fin, tied in a lock of hair, seems incorporeal. He thunders past a startled Carisi, who has nary the time to blink at him.

 

Almost lost in the feeling, Rafael barely remembers to grab his own hair to stop his descent.

 

He hangs there, suspended above the green carpet. He’s read, over and over again about how it’s supposed to be soft, smooth, cool. He’s afraid that reality isn’t going to live up to his imagination.

 

By his ear, Fin chirps, disentangling himself from his hair and skittering down his body until he can spring off his toes.

 

“Hey, Skillet,” Carisi calls, and Rafael looks up at him. “Get a move on, will ya? Even your frog wants to go.”

 

Carisi skids down the rest of the tower, stopping in line with Rafael. “You’re not scared, are you?” he asks, and it almost seems tender.

 

Then he smiles and drops to the ground, picking up Fin where he’s trying to eat a flower. “Look, if you’re so afraid of outside, why’d you ask me to take you to see the lanterns?”

 

Rafael huffs, letting his feet touch the ground, digging his bare toes into the grass. Huh, soft and kind of prickly too. Not unpleasant at all. And if he didn’t have an audience, he’s certain he’d roll around a bit, see if it smells as nice down there as it does where he’s standing. Carisi hands him Fin, and Fin immediately runs down him and into the grass again.

 

“So, Skillet,” Carisi says, tucking the arrows into a crevice in the wall, “are you ready to go or would you like to go back up there?”

 

To answer him, Rafael tugs his hair free from the hook, waiting patiently as it falls down around them. Carisi sputters a bit, acting as if some of the strands caught in his mouth.

 

“Let’s go, Ruffian,” Rafael says, surprised by the distasteful look that crosses Carisi’s face.

 

“Are you hungry?” Carisi says suddenly, grinning suspiciously. “I know a great place! You’ll love it! You’ll know it when you smell it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have an entire story (sort of) planned where Rafael and Sonny are in Tangled. Declan Murphy plays Mother Gothel (hence the “Father”). I haven’t really decided on the other characters aside from Fin as Pascal. I may end up writing more for this one, but right now, it’s a giant toss-up.


	9. Twenty-Six - Twenty-Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Relationship fluff.

\--

**26\. Your Least Favorite Thing. Throw that in there. Movie, book, food, music- cram in as many awful things as you can.**

 

“It’s just dinner,” Rafael says. Sonny glares.

 

“It’s at your mom’s,” he says, pouting. “She always makes something I hate eating.”

 

Rafael laughs. “It’s because you hate so many different foods. It’s hard for _me_ to cook for you.”

 

Sonny remains sullen, curled on the couch, holding a book by its spine. He’d texted Rafael earlier asking for a night in, and then Lucia happened. “You at least ask me if it’s okay to try something. Your mom, I know, it’s her house, her rules, but it seems like she finds out something I don’t like and then we have to go and eat it.”

 

“Well, just think of it as payback for E.T.,” Rafael suggests. Sonny makes a face at him, tossing the book onto the coffee table.

 

“E.T. was retaliation for making me read that stupid Hemingway novel,” he says, indicating the book.

 

Rafael says, “The book was retaliation for blaring that god-awful song a million and two times.”

 

“And that was a retaliation itself,” Sonny reminds him. He sighs heavily. “We’ve really got to think our retaliations through more thoroughly. Otherwise, we’re probably gonna end up torturing ourselves too.”

 

“Well, as long as we avoid the major things, like bees and seaweed, we should be okay.”

 

Sonny gets a contemplative look on his face. “Your mom knows about the seaweed, right?”

 

“Yeah. I’ve told her God knows how many times.”

 

“Then, as long as she also avoids asparagus and fish and canned pineapple and bananas and—”

 

“—and every other reasonable food under the sun—”

 

“—We should be okay!”

 

“Now, if we can just convince her not to start a game of Monopoly.”

 

Sonny snorts. “Good luck with that.”

 

Rafael sighs wistfully, sitting next to Sonny so he can pull on his shoes. “Yeah. It’s nice to imagine though.”

 

“Hey,” Sonny bumps shoulders with Rafael, grinning at him. “Bright side: it’s not Candyland.”

 

“Don’t even joke about that. She’d do it.”

 

“Well, I suppose we’d better go. She’s probably waiting for us.”

 

“And knowing her, that means serving something _I_ don’t like to eat as retaliation.”

 

“Rafi, we’re getting takeout on the way home, right?”

 

“You know it,” Rafael says, standing and tugging Sonny up with him. “At least she approves of our relationship.”

 

“Bright side,” Sonny says again, pressing a quick kiss to Rafael’s cheek as he locks the door behind them. “Can I pretend gastronomical distress if she pulls out the game board?”

 

“No. She’s my mother. We’re not lying to her. Even if it kills us.”

 

“I’ll make sure to put that on your headstone,” Sonny assures him. “And I’ll make sure I don’t lie your mom. Much.”

 

“That’s all I ask.”

 

\--

**27. A balloon is involved**

 

Rafael has a hidden talent.

 

He can make balloon animals.

 

He used to do it for the school carnivals. Now, he does it for the children waiting in the witness room.

 

He’s even done one for Judge Elana Barth, after she was shot.

 

“Really, Mr. Barba,” Barth grins when he hands her a giraffe. “My favorite animal is the Yorkshire Terrier.”

 

“Darn,” Rafael murmurs, snapping his fingers. “I knew I was mixing who liked what.”

 

Barth laughs, making the giraffe gallivant over her bedspread, careful of the IV lines. “If I’m not mistaken, giraffes are Detective Carisi’s favorite animals.”

 

“Yeah.” Rafael scratches at the back of his head. He stops as soon as he notices what he’s doing. He and Carisi—Sonny—have only been dating for a few—eight—months, but already some of the detective’s behaviors are rubbing off on him. They’ve been living together for nearly four months now, so it’s to be expected.

 

Barth notices his aborted scratching and laughs. Delightedly.

 

“I’m not the first person you’ve told, am I?” she asks.

 

Rafael shakes his head. “We told the rest of his precinct at Christmas.” He sighs at the memory. “It was lackluster, and yet rewarding.”

 

Barth nods knowingly. “Relationships can be.” She turns the giraffe in her hand, squeaking her finger over a flank. “I’m guessing you’re telling me because in a way I set you up?”

 

He laughs softly. “You know me too well,” he says. “The first time I really looked at Sonny was that night you dragged me to his mock trial. A week later, we were dating.”

 

The giraffe squeaks again as Barth rubs it gently. “So, congratulations,” she says, holding the giraffe out to him. “Now, go see your boyfriend before he decides I’m trying to steal you from him.”

 

“Thank you, Elana,” Rafael says. He quickly twists a dog, trading it for the giraffe. “I hope your recovery goes well.”

 

“I hope Sonny’s goes well too,” she responds, setting the balloon on her tray. “Tell him hello from me.”

 

Rafael waves as he hurries to the room next door. Sonny, who is dozing when Rafael pushes in, startles and blinks sleepily at him.

 

“Rafi,” he says, coughing to clear his throat. Rafael winces with him. Intubation is never fun. Thankfully that part is over.

 

“Hey, Sonny.” He pulls a chair up to the bed and sits. He holds out the giraffe and Sonny smiles, taking it carefully. “Judge Barth sends her regards.” Rafael grabs Sonny’s free hand, covering it with both of his and squeezing gently. “I love you, Sonny.”

 

“I know,” Sonny says back, twisting his hand until he can hold onto Rafael’s fingers. “I love you too. I’m sorry I almost died.”

 

Rafael blinks back sudden tears. “No, don’t apologize. You’re here now, and that’s all that matters.”

 

Sonny pats the bed next to him, and Rafael climbs up, mindful of the tubes and wires still stuck to Sonny’s body. He holds onto him, curling until they’re pressed as close as they dare.

 

“I almost lost you,” Rafael whispers. “And I realized, I don’t care what happens. We’re long term. I’m not letting you go.”

 

\--

**28\. A kiss is involved**

 

Their first kiss is unremarkable. Completely. No sparks, no fireworks. Nothing but nerves and the butterflies they leave behind.

 

And yet, Sonny lies awake that first night completely amazed and flabbergasted and wondering what he did right, ‘cause he’ll sure as hell spend the rest of his life chasing that moment.

 

Their second kiss is just as underwhelming, and Sonny spends the day bouncing around Cloud 9, annoying the others detectives as he floats around the precinct.

 

Twenty-five kisses later, Sonny finally feels the spark.

 

Well, actually, it’s his shirt going up in flames when Rafael kisses him over a candlelit dinner.

 

The kisses in the hospital aren’t too lacking either, and Sonny realizes he only misdiagnosed the fireworks as the butterflies, as being too nervous to believe Rafael could want him.

 

Rafael looks at him like he knows what he’s thinking. And then he kisses him again.

 

Cloud 9, Sonny thinks, is beautiful this time of day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hemingway book is The Old Man and the Sea. The song is any old thing that gets stuck and doesn't sound good the first or hundredth time it's repeated.


	10. Twenty-Nine - Thirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pens and Proposals and Weddings.

\--

  **29\. A pen is involved**

 

Sonny breaks Rafael’s favorite fountain pen.

 

Not on purpose by any means. And he’s apologetic. But, sorry doesn’t fix the pen.

 

“I’ve told you to be careful,” Rafael says, rubbing at the growing headache. He always gets these massive headaches whenever he and Sonny fight, even if all the fighting is one-sided, ‘cause Sonny sure as hell isn’t fighting.

 

“I know,” Sonny says softly. He holds the broken pen in his palm, and the leaking ink stains his skin. “I know someone who can put it back together again.”

 

“What if I say no?”

 

Sonny stares at him. “It’s your favorite,” he says. “Why wouldn’t you want it fixed?”

 

“Just leave it,” Rafael says. He grabs the pen from Sonny’s hand, throwing it into the waste bin.

 

He goes to bed that night, unable to sleep, and not sure if it’s because he’s still mad or because Sonny never comes to bed.

 

They seem okay in the morning, Sonny matching their ink-stained hands, and twining their fingers together as they eat toast and work on that day’s Sudoku puzzle with a pencil.

 

 A week later Sonny hands him a box. Inside, nestled carefully in a bed of cotton batting, is the repaired pen. Rafael plucks it out to examine it.

 

There’s a fine gold line circling the break, and each jagged edge has been carefully painted with gold. It’s whole again and more. Rafael turns it over and over in his hands, studying the flowing lines, the fixed cracks.

 

“Kintsugi,” Sonny says softly. “The art of repairing something with gold to show it’s more beautiful even broken, because it’s been broken. Usually it’s reserved for pottery.”

 

“Thank you,” Rafael says, and he means it. Carefully, he replaces it in the box and puts it on that shelf above the mirror where they keep the special items. Sonny smiles softly at him, and something tight in Rafael’s chest finally comes undone.

 

“I’ve got an important question,” he says, following Sonny to the couch. Sonny shrugs as he sits. His usual response to Rafael’s important questions.

 

This one is different though.

 

Rafael drops to one knee in front of Sonny, and he claps his hands over his mouth, eyes widening.

 

“But I broke your pen,” he whispers from behind his hands. “I use too much gel, and I leave dishes in the sink, and—”

 

Rafael lunges upward, moving Sonny's hands and pressing their lips together to silence him. “Yes,” he says, pulling back and smiling fondly at him, “you do all those things, but you also give your all when you’re doing something. When we were fencing, you taught yourself all the moves before the instructors could. You do that with everything. You’ve done it with this relationship. You’ve got drive, Sonny, you’ve got heart. And I love you.”

 

“I still think you’re making a mistake,” Sonny says, letting Rafael tug his hands down so he can trace the heart line while kneeling again. “Come on, get up.”

 

“Do you want to spend the rest of your life with me?” Rafael asks seriously, and Sonny looks stricken.

 

“Of course I do, Rafi,” he says. “But why do you want me? I’m nowhere near perfect.”

 

“And that’s another thing I love about you,” Rafael says, kissing the tip of each finger. Sonny sighs softly, eyes half-closing as he relaxes a tiny bit. “You may not be perfect, but neither am I. Together, though, we’re better than we are separate. For that reason, and many others that my knees are keeping me from thinking of and/or articulating, I want to ask you; will you marry me, Dominick?”

 

Sonny pulls him up, spreading his legs so Rafael can nestle in between his thighs. He uses his long fingers to cup Rafael’s face, rising up as Rafael leans down until their lips meet. It’s chaste kiss, with closed lips and no tongue, but it’s sweeter than many others they’ve shared. After a few minutes, they drift apart, and Rafael rests his forehead on Sonny’s.

 

“Yes,” Sonny whispers softly, the thumb of one hand rubbing circles on Rafael’s cheek. “Too many yeses to count.”

 

\--

**30\. A wedding is involved**

 

She’s beautiful, standing at the altar. Next to her, her fiancé shifts nervously, shooting scared glances back at them.

 

Sonny waves encouragingly and Rafael grabs his hand to still it. He glares at him before turning his steel-eyed gaze on the poor bastard.

 

“She’s happy,” Sonny murmurs, and Rafael digs his elbow into his side. Sonny elbows him back. “Seriously, Rafi,” he says. “Stop it.”

 

“Just wait until she calls us crying because he couldn’t honor his vows.”

 

“Rafi, they’ve been dating for almost ten years. Marriage isn’t going to change them.”

 

“So why is he so skeevy today?”

 

Sonny shrugs so their shoulders knock together, and for a brief moment, Rafael takes his eyes from the groom. “Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you’ve been glaring at him like he burned down your courtroom, _Juez_ , ever since the announcement of their engagement.”

 

At that, Rafael drops his gaze to his lap. “I just don’t like him,” he mumbles, and Sonny pats at his hand.

 

“I didn’t like him at first either. But,” he says, shooting a quick glance at the proceeding of the ceremony, keeping place, “he’s been there for her.” Unspoken words weigh heavily, bitterly, on Sonny’s tongue.

 

He’d walked her to the altar and then taken his seat next to Rafael.

 

The loss still really hurts, but, Sonny takes a deep breath, noting that Rafael is doing the same beside him, today is happy.

 

“I do,” Tomato says, turning to her new husband, and he lifts her veil.

 

They kiss to applause, and Sonny feels it pounding in his chest.

 

They stand to hastily congratulate the couple as they race away, ducking from the rice.

 

“I suppose we’ll have to vacuum that,” Rafael says, distractedly, and just as distractedly, Sonny replies, “I don’t think you’re supposed to vacuum rice.”

 

“I also suppose,” Rafael continues, ignoring Sonny, “that we should get married next. We have been engaged for nearly seventeen years.”

 

“Maybe we should. How’s next month sound? Think you can pencil it in?”

 

“Seriously?” Rafael grabs Sonny’s hand. “Let’s get married tomorrow and tell everyone it’s in a month.”

 

Now it’s Sonny’s turn to say, “Seriously?” Rafael nods.

 

“We can be in Cape Cod by this evening. I know an old judge who owes me a favor.”

 

“Okay,” Sonny smiles, “you’re on. Make all your calls. I’ll get the suits and rings.”

 

“Tomato’s going to kill us when she finds out,” Rafael says.

 

“I think I’ll take that chance. It’s worth it to finally land the hottest catch on the New York Bench.”

 

**~ The End ~**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There! 30 one-shots detailing the relationship between Rafael Barba and Sonny Carisi, done.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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